Neon Lights, Mochi Nights

While most traditional holidays were not something that he found himself particularly fond of participating in, one thing that Kodiak could get behind was the drinking associated with the celebrations of mochi moon. You would never catch him refusing free alcohol, and if you did… well, then that simply wasn’t him any longer. He paired with the stuff like gasoline to a flame— property damage and physical harm notwithstanding.

That was how he found himself wading knee-deep through a sea of buns in the crowded wonderland casino, two drinks in hand, and only himself to drink them with. Barely managing to find himself a seat out of range of the bustling bar and dealing floor, he breathed a sigh of relief as he fell back into the plush couch’s respite, already buzzed out of his mind after a few hours of back to back shots with the bartender.

The bass thumped through the floorboards of the bumping casino as Kodiak slouched deeper into the well-worn couch, his seventh and eighth— or was it ninth? —sinnamon whiskey sloshing in the glasses. Math wasn’t really his forte this many drinks in, however many that happened to be. Not that it ever was, even in a sober state.

Around him, the bodies of other Succubuns swayed and stumbled to the rhythm, faces flushed with both intoxication, and the revelry of the mochi moon party’s celebrations.

The bright, neon lighting of the casino cast long shadows across the large room, making the silhouettes of dancing buns seem to stretch and twist in ways impossible to the eye if not for the pills he was handed by another patron earlier in the night. The sweet scent of spilled drinks and high rolling bun’s cigars hung thick in the air, creating an intoxicating atmosphere that only added to Kodiak's increasingly blurred state of reality.

Through bleary eyes, he watched a group of vaguely familiar faces getting rather into their annual drunken stupors. One couple he spotted had already collapsed into a booth seat and were snoring softly. Another were slow-dancing despite there being no slow song playing, their movements growing increasingly uncoordinated as the hard liquor they were knocking back began to settle in.

Kodiak lifted one of his own cups to his lips, letting the burning liquid further numb his thoughts. The room spun pleasantly, memories of past parties blending with the present moment. Someone nearby laughed too loudly. Someone else dropped a bottle with a distant crash. Whatever it was, it didn’t disturb his mood in the slightest.

One by one, each party-going bun succumbed to their moonlit alcoholic revelry. Hops sprawled across the bar counter with a satisfied grin as she drifted off, bottle of booze still in hand as she went. He even spotted a bun curled up in the corner with someone's coat as a pillow. Even the security strewn about the party dozed off, some passed out at the very posts they were guarding.

As consciousness began to slip away, Kodiak noticed he was the last one still technically awake. A bitter smile crossed his face— he'd always had a habit of being the last man standing. The now empty glass fell from his loosening fingers as his heavy eyelids finally closed, long teal eyelashes fluttering shut, dragging him into the familiar darkness of a drunken slumber.

The party's music played on to an audience of peaceful, alcohol-induced dreams, with no one but the keen ears of the demon of the moon himself to hear it.

While not a bun blessed by the visions of Allocer, the fragments of light piercing through Kodiak’s consciousness drifted by like scattered starlight, something he would never truly see with his own eyes on such a sacred holiday. The bass from above filtered down through his dreams, transforming into the steady rhythm of a distant heartbeat, unknown and beating with a warmth that spread through his body even deep into his dreams. Neon signs from the room morphed and twisted in his mind's eye, painting abstract patterns across the darkness behind his closed eyelids, an aurora of alcoholic origins.

Time seemed to lose all meaning as he floated through this hazy dimension of his own mindscape, well into the morning hours. Occasionally, a particularly loud bass note would ripple through his consciousness like a stone dropped into his cocktail glass, sending ripples of sensation outward before fading back into the comfortable numbness.

In this space between light slumber and deeper sleep, memories of the night fragmented and reassembled themselves like a kaleidoscope— fleeting images of drunken, laughing faces, the glint of bottles in the neon light, the feeling of sinking deeper into the casino booth seating —all blending together in a pleasant, alcohol-tinged blur.

A night he would look back on fondly, despite the inability to remember a second of it past his sixth drink.